


In the Dark of the Night

by MorpheusEnMemori (Its_Darling)



Series: Awkward Murder Uncle [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Some Swearing, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Trans!Spy, Uncle-Niece Relationship, Violence, awkward murder uncle, fem!scout, some chapters will have separate trigger warnings in the notes, tada here's fem scout, trans!Scout
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-12-06 20:53:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11608746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Darling/pseuds/MorpheusEnMemori
Summary: Considering what the BLU Spy was in Boston for, it should have been…Well, simple wasn’t the word.He was just helping his not-a-niece like an awkward murder uncle should. With explaining the details of transition, and hoping Scout's mother understood.But what the night (and all subsequent ones) turned out to be, he wished it was simpler.





	1. I was tossing and turning

**Author's Note:**

> I said I was in between doing so.  
> But I mean, technically, this could be read on it’s own.

                Scout spoke in her usual jovial tone as she was bringing up fun things about Boston while they traveled. Spy fidgeted more than usual, he blames the assortment of medicines he has to take. It certainly was not despite being a year cigarette free, he itched for one. No one paid them mind, thankfully. Most people were too focused on themselves than the peculiar duo. Far too many plans, Smissmas was around the corner. Not that he was particular about the holiday…

                Spy listened, though Scout simply spoke of things that… Well, some things were interesting. Scout appeared to know about all the family businesses, and pointed out a great many to him. It would often come with a pause, a slight realization as she seemed uncertain and reluctant. Spy knows exactly what caused this hesitation.

                “You can still go in.” Spy says.

                “But… what if they recognize me?” Scout asks.

                The truth? It depends. He explained it once, saying that some people in his old town recognized him vaguely. Most thought that he was a distant cousin. But in that context, he barely transitioned. Scout, in her case… With the right amount of deflection, most shouldn’t notice. Spy was good with lying, he could pass Scout off as-  
                Ah.  
                It wasn’t as though he could be upset about the comparison, they did look similar. Both of them still preferred blue clothing. Even without the mask, Spy had a habit of using his scarf to cover his face (at least he can blame the wind) and he was wearing a fedora to cover his hair. The fedora was purely a vanity thing, the white streaks against the black make him self-conscious.

                “You have been away for years, non?” Spy asks, “At least five years. You will be surprised at who does not recall.”

                It did not settle her mind, clenching at her skirt, looking around as she seems likely to run. While Spy knew he could keep up with her better, he doubted it would be healthy for the both of them. Far too cold for such a trivial run.

                “I think I should… go talk with Ma. Yeah?” Scout asks.

                “I’m the tourist. Whatever you wish.” Spy says.

                “Yeah, and you’re still recovering. Jeez, only been a year with the new lungs right?” Scout asks.

                And it took getting into the country of Australia, having the surgery (which was not that difficult, he was more impressed with the new organs), receiving protection from _Scout_ of all people (and the Sniper Lawrence, to a smaller extent), and the recovery process (took seven months for Spy to feel mostly normal). The remaining year? That was Scout’s process towards transition. They couldn’t do it in Australia… Spy had no resources he could call upon, and Lawrence… Well, he knew many people, but there was no one in Australia to help Scout.

                However, Lawrence knew of someone in France, but cited the woman was more than a little off hinged. Nothing they hadn’t dealt with before. Thus, it was Spy’s turn to do the same for Scout. Her face was slightly different, still with the garish buck teeth, only some of the masculinization diminished. As well as breasts she was happy with, ignoring the doctor’s comments that she might want them bigger. Spy found it a bit ironic the statement came from a woman. Scout had less recovery time needed, mostly because the doctor happened to be an Australian one who decided living in France was worth her time. And that beard the doctor had… Both of them were impressed, it helped them trust her.

                “Spy?” Scout asks.

                “I think that is a peculiar name, non?” Spy says, “I gave you permission to call me Lazare.”

                “Yeah, that’s… You picked a weird name.” Scout says.

                “So did you. But it is your name, Justine.” Spy says.

                Scou- _Justine_ shared the story behind it, said that she asked her mother what name she had aside for a girl. Turns out, her _father_ had out Justine, Jeanette, Jeremy (her twin’s name), and the dead name. Spy found it peculiar that Justine decided to use one of those names, instead of reinvent herself. But, she loves her mother, and cannot stand to completely distance herself. Spy may not relate, but he will not fault her decision.

                “You don’t have a nickname?” Justine asks.

                “Perhaps.” Spy says, “Maybe if my old friend suddenly appeared and shouted it from the heavens, you would have his favorite nickname for me. But, think of one. Maybe it will stick.”

                “That doesn’t seem like the name to have a nickname!” Justine says.

                Some people mistakenly call him ‘Azar,’ then there’s Ignasi who called him ‘Lassie’ and an assortment of nicknames not related to his name. Spy had more fun not clarifying. He truly hated one that Ignasi favored, and did not need others repeating it.  
                Justine suggests going back to the hotel, specifying that… Her mother recognized a house full of boys. Spy debated on the best course of action. Honestly, Justine already looked different, the facial surgery would give away that _something_ happened, for a mother never forgets the face of her child. But Spy already deduced the best excuse, and he was sure Justine would follow if that is the choice best suited for her.

                They get to the hotel, Justine once again calling the house phone with one of the mobile devices they were allowed to take out of Australia. Justine held the phone stiffly while she spoke to her mother, not bothering with her usual falsetto.

                “Ma? Ma. I’m fine, just. I’m a little overwhelmed….- Yeah Ma I’m in Boston….- Ma, I know, I should have went home a while ago…- Ma, please….- Ma, I missed you too. I missed Boston as well…- I miss everyone Ma. I.. I just needed a bit to look around…- Yeah Ma, I’ll be over soon…- Guests? Oh, speaking of…- No this ain’t a girlfriend…- Ma this ain’t a _boyfriend_ either…- Ma. Ma, I promise, I know you don’t mind. But this guy that’s with me, he’s a friend. Just a friend. We went through a lot, and…- yeah Ma, I can do that…- Oh? Tess’s back? Fuck yes! ....- Ah, sorry Ma….- Yeah, I missed her too…- Ma. Ma. MOM. Yes. I know. Ma. We’ll never get off the phone at this rate…- I’ll be over soon, and I won’t forget going to Vito’s Bakery…- Yeah Ma, we can bring…- Five tiramisus? Are we expecting a lot of guests? …- Alright Ma, we can handle it….- See you soon Ma.”

                Spy has already adjusted his attire, he chooses to sneak another knife on his person. Of course, his pistol sits hidden, but he hopes he never has to use it. He has out a new garment for Justine, a compression shirt that looks a great deal like an undershirt. Justine does not have to ask, she puts on bits of clothing from her remaining men’s collection she was using as ‘mess’ or ‘night’ clothing. She seems miserable, forced to tuck in some of the hair she was trying to grow out under her favorite hat. She gives in, mumbling something about how her mother will insist she get it cut as soon as possible.

                “The hell do I do if this don’t work out?” Justine asks.

                “Go from there.” Spy says, “You cannot dismiss this. We’re already here, you contacted your mother, and you said you were bringing her desserts. On if you tell her, that is your decision.”

                Though they both knew she would ask why Scout looked different. Up front, Spy had no idea. In private? Seemed more likely. But, they had to get there first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning.  
> I might have accidentally put the wrong pronoun in places.  
> I don't have an active beta reader, so these mistakes will happen. Trust me, I triple check when the thought hits me  
> But oh man am I so upset about it because I caught many before posting, then **I keep finding _more_**  
>  (9/3/2017 edit: I have started moving away from class names, sans (BLU) Spy for everyone)


	2. And the nightmare I had was as bad as could be

                The tiramisus were… Well, not tiny. Not large either. Perhaps it was a perfect size for couples. Spy had an interesting conversation with the owners, in Basque. He expected Italian, but as it turned out, half the family came from Basque. Specifically in Nafarroa Beherea, he had wanted to go back for a visit. Spy has a moment of fear when someone recognized him, in terms of an ‘old family’ and he finds out something he wasn’t expecting.  
                Navarre would have to be a memory.  
                They were walking for a couple blocks (Justine’s casual ‘suggestion’), with her pointing out everything about her hometown. Small details, places she fought at, first kisses, best places for some hash. The only time he spoke up was about the hash, and stated it wouldn’t be very good. Eventually, she brought it back to the incident in the bakery.

                “What spooked you at Vitos?” Justine asks, “And don’t use your usual French Mystique, you almost ran off when they mentioned some _duprow_.”

                “ _Du-preh_ is the common pronunciation, although I normally say _du-prah_.” Spy says, “It meant something to me, once.”

                Spy never thought he would hear someone mention Dupré again. He didn’t think he would hear about _Claire_.  
                He’s an uncle all over again, by blood. Twins, a boy and a girl that held a great deal of resemblance to… him. The little boy more so, and Spy knew he couldn’t return. Not that he was missed, not that he thought Claire would understand.

                “So it’s like… I mean, I don’t even know your last name. I know you said it, sometimes.” Justine says.

                “Devaux. Though, I may go with Dupré. Both have served me in specific times.” Spy says.

                “You don’t trust Ma with your last name?” she asks.

                “I barely trust you with it Justine. You butcher the pronunciation.” Spy says.

                And if Justine wanted a technicality… Legally, his birth name was still ‘his name.’ His true name was a fake document he decided he liked more than the other assortment of names he had to use. Going through the legal (and slightly illegal) hoops to change his birth name made little sense when it was significantly easier to recreate himself.  
                Soon, they’re going through a subdivision, seeing houses of a similar make and build. It was the third crossing they made when they saw the second house from the corner. Justine was pointing it out as her house.  
                A red Ferrari sat in the driveway, as well as a non-descript family car.

                “What is René doing here?” Spy asks.

                “Huh? Who do you know with that-.” She starts, “No. No way. That’s. That’s the RED Spy?”

                It seemed mildly ironic, because here they are, the BLU team’s Spy and Scout, about to stumble into the RED team’s Spy and Scout. He keeps forgetting that the Scouts are _twins_.

                “I could knock first.” Spy offers.

                “And what, be a salesman?” Justine deadpans.

                More like ask if René was interested in the word of God.

                Well, that was more along the lines of Ignasi’s idea. Spy knew how to sort this out, despite how the idea was absolutely awful.

               “I know you don’t like René. I am uncertain if I could lead him out, but the closest idea I have…” Spy starts, “Is there a Catholic church nearby?”

               “Spy we’re in America, there’s churches everywhere. I’m pretty sure there’s a Catholic one too.” she says, “Are you gonna be one of those Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

                Good enough. Spy takes out a photograph of his daughter from his repurposed cigarette case, one that Justine managed to return to him. She still seemed apprehensive about him having that image, though Spy never sorted what made her this way. Before Spy could walk across the street, Justine takes hold of his arm.

               “I’m just prolonging it at this rate.” Justine says, “I can handle the RED Spy, especially since you’re here.”

               “If you are certain.” Spy says.

               Spy returns the photograph, following behind her. She hesitates many times, looking around the house and each step tense as she’s trying to steady her breathing.

               “I haven’t vanished on you.” Spy says.

               “Hey, you didn’t say yet.” she says, “Maybe you are telling me the truth…”

               She takes in a deep breath, getting to the door and knocks, calling out for her mother. Spy stays on the stairs, a force of habit he makes. Quicker to escape when you’re less likely to trip to the concrete. He hears excited yelling, seeing the door fly inwards and the yelling woman embraces Scout.  
                He did not expect the hairstyle. Well, it was in fashion, but he had thought her mother would prefer the asymmetrical style that was becoming in fashion instead of sporting a long flat haired look. She was dressed in red, a simple sort that had a cut of the decade, he supposed.  
                Goodness did he wish he could avoid picking out fashionable trends in _women_ , that habit of his became silly.

                She uses Justine’s dead name.  
                More than once.  
                Spy remains tense, seeing a similar sort of tenseness as Justine seems unwilling to embrace her mother. It’s slow, but it happens. From the door, in a pristine white shirt and burgundy pinstripe pants was the RED Spy René. He had his mask off, displaying styled blond hair. The Spies stare at each other, recognition almost instant.

               “And what are _you_ doing here?” René asks.

               “Scout asked me to come, René.” Spy says.

               René didn’t believe this, though Justine’s mother pulled away from her, positioning herself in between the Spies. This was intentional, even Scout seemed unwilling to speak up.

               “Baby, this your friend you told me about?” she asks.

              “Yeah, this is…” Justine starts, “What did you say your stupid French name was again?”

             “Lazare.” Spy says, “It is not difficult.”

             “Like… Lazarus?” her mother asks.

             “Oui. Like Lazarus.” Spy says.

            There was disbelief, which Spy expected. Perhaps René would be difficult, but he did not know about Antoinette. Well, that did give him an idea…

            “If you protest such a name, perhaps Antoine would serve you. Though it’s not common I go by my middle name.” Spy says.

             “Ah, I ain’t mean that… I kinda can figure you picked that name, Lazare. At least Antoine sounds like a name you should have.” she says.

                That could mean so many things. Spy hoped that Justine noticed.  
                Okay, that would take far too much faith on her skills. A bit dense, yet not stupid, he had to remind himself. But, it would be wise to test. Just to see if her mother knows what Spy is inferring.

                “Of course I picked out my name.” Spy says, “I wasn’t calling myself _Jean_ like the rest of my fellow countrymen. No harm to those who are named Jean, but I could not be called such a boring name.”

               Spy saw it. That little hint of realization. Her mother opened her mouth to make a comment, though pauses when René puts a hand on her shoulder.

               “You’re detracting from the point.” He says.

                “Non. We don’t like each other and you’re thinking of excuses to convince your amour to not let me in.” Spy says.

                “Perhaps. But there is to be no fighting in the house. Difficult, with both Scouts. And you.” He says.

                “And.” her mother starts.

                She takes hold of René’s wrist, yanking him off as she seems to ponder the best course of action. Scout, perhaps wisely, decided to lean against the door frame and watch this awkward interaction on her porch.

                “My son invited this man René. I suspect he would rather be anywhere but here, and out of the goodness of his heart, he decided to help my baby.” She says, “René, you did say it was a bit dangerous for a bit. You and Jeremy gotten into quite the trouble for, what, a year? I think everyone can handle a couple hours with a man that helped one of my babies.”

                It is silent. Well, about as silent as Boston could get, with the passing cars, horns, chilling wind and rusting leaves and grass. But everyone knew this to be a threat and a promise. Spy considered one thought that would serve him well tonight.  
                Do. Not. Cross. Justine’s. Mother.

                “I will take the same reverence here as if I were with my own _maman’s_.” Spy says.

                "Oh it doesn’t have to be that serious Antoine. The names Alice and it’s nice to meet you.” She says, extending out a hand.

                Her grip is about as firm as he expected: almost crushing his fingers and made him wonder if his bones were going to crack. With that, she slips inside and calls for all of them to come inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the one hand, I like Word auto formatting the paragraph indents.  
> On the other hand, it means I have to correct it on AO3 and I can never get it even.  
> (I rewrote a massive part of this. Hope it reads alright.)


	3. It scared me out of my wits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house  
> the daughter  
> the night begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psst, this is technically two chapters in one  
> I couldn't sort out a good split so this worked.

                It was a house of contradictions.

                He can see where René’s influences took route. The wine cabinet, an assortment of paintings (all of them featuring the tools of the Spy trade. And René, narcissist.), and some finer crystal decorations tips Spy on how much René is in her life.  
                Then he sees the items that was not like him at all: family portraits, spread throughout and even against the paintings, well-worn furniture (except for one leather armchair), and no smell of cigarettes. René must smoke outside, at her request.  
                One other thing was the television set, but Spy has little idea whose idea it was.

                “Also, just a warning-.” Alice starts.

                “I do not smoke, madame.” Spy says.

                “Really? I thought the both of you smoked like chimneys.” Alice asks.

                “Used to. But my stipulation for getting new lungs was to stop smoking.” Spy says.

                “What’s the use of getting new lungs if you can’t smoke with them? No doctor told _me_ to stop…” René says.

                Spy used to agree, but honestly, the feeling of new lungs that he could breathe with was such an experience. Being able to run as fast as the Scouts, well, that made not smoking worth it.  
                Speaking of one of them, he didn’t see Justine, though he did hear the dashing around. The house was bigger than it looked, then again… Spy used to live in Chateaus when he was young.

                “Hey ma!” Justine calls from somewhere in the house, “Where’s Tess and Jeremy?”

                “At her house.” Alice calls, “She’s cooking something, said it’d make the house stink if she did it here. Convinced Jeremy to help her take the stuff back here when she was done.”

                Fish, probably. He thought of _Matelote_ , knowing that many dislike the smell of the stewing process.  
                Soon, Alice convinces him to take off his overcoat. In the house and all, he does not protest and he watches where she puts it. René sits down at his armchair, reaching in his vest pocket for what Spy presumed to be his cigarettes, but he soon moves them away. He’s uneasily tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, eventually settling on a book that’s leaning against the chair. One of them. He starts reading one titled _The Godfather_ , all while another rests on the side, but Spy could not sort what _The Feminine Mystique_ was supposed to be about.  
                She equally convinces him to take a seat on the misshapen sofa that’s been well worn. He suspects René has been trying to replace this for years, Spy almost sinks into it uncomfortably. But, the way she perches, seems she’s far too accustomed to working around the old thing.

                “Ma.” Justine says when she’s down the stairs, “What about my brothers? Not Maxwell and Oliver, I know why they’re not coming.”

                “Next week baby, working regular jobs and all.” She says.

                “Anything in the kitchen, I’m _starving_.” Justine asks.

                Alice gives a list of things that Justine was allowed to touch, which seemed short. Justine goes through another room, rummaging around with about as much noise as he’s come to expect from her.

                “So you were in Australia, Antoine?” Alice asks.

                “For a couple months. René might have mentioned Lawrence at some point, I know those two chatted casually, he’s the one who gave the doctor recommendations.” Spy says.

                “Lawrence? Not Mundy?” René asks.

                “I haven’t seen Mundy since BLU disbanded. Then again, why would I?” Spy asks.

                René considers this for a moment, then he’s back to fingering through his book. Must be a reread or he’s avoiding the other book.  
                He has to know.

                “Alice, what is _The Feminine Mystique_ about?” he asks.

                He hears René lurch in his seat, almost as if the man is trying to stifle a groan. Alice, all the while, excitedly goes for the book and she uses passages to explain it. Not that Alice actually agreed with a great deal about the book, even cited where Friedan was getting many of the details wrong. But, seemed that overall, Alice noticed how it resonated with people.

                “And other women were saying I was leading an unsatisfactory life being as busy as I was, then they read this and admit they were miserable.” Alice says.

                “Dear, you really don’t have to work like you do…” René says.

                “Darling, you did say you would look at this, have you?” Alice asks.

                René buries himself in _The Godfather_ and mutters something about chapters as well as a lacking in understanding of what he was able to read. Alice sets the book on the other side of the armchair, appearing refreshed as she moves onto the next topic.

                “Think you would read it, Antoine?” she asks.

                “Perhaps. Though, I am not particularly American. I might miss some of the meanings.” Spy admits.

                That and Spy did not particularly care to read a book that explained the life of 1950s and 1960s American women when he suspects it would only speak of a particular type of woman. When Spy _was_ a woman, he already went against the mold.  
                Him, the well-known spy on level with Mata Hari, before he transitioned. Well, he resents that comparison, but it wasn’t as though he could convince others to use a different one.  
                Then again, he wonders, was Alice telling him the truth? Was she really a domestic sort? Scout implied much differently about her mother...

                “Not married?” she asks.

                “Still young.” Spy says.

                “Not _that_ young.” René responds.

                Spy inhales, holds for a couple moments.  
                Resist the urge to stab René in the throat.  
                Release said breath, much better. Alice noticed, her lips pursing into a line, though she soon tries changing the subject.

                “Well, if I weren’t already wrapped around René-.” She starts.

                “Non, I understand, René is lucky to have you.” Spy says.

                Not that complements like this would stop René from being an ass… Spy listens out for Justine, already figuring that her solution to this was avoiding it completely. But he’s watching the way Alice twists her fingers into the skirt of her dress. He’s waiting on a series of questions to start… either Alice will be direct, or she will continue with this…  
                What is this called? Passive aggressive chatting to attempt to make the target relax? Is that what mothers do?  
                Well, now that he thought on it-.

                “So what all did you and *dead name* do for a year?” Alice asks.

                “Visited Australia for some treatments, then we went to France to see another doctor.” Spy says.

                “René says that the one doctor in Australia was enough. Why France?” she asks.

                “Because I’m French and the doctor was an Australian Lawrence recommended?” Spy asks, “I couldn’t say why she went to France, but this was someone a former coworker recommended and found her to go above my standards.”

                That was _half_ -true, but Spy could at least prove he needed an actual reason to see her. Alice indeed asks why, and Spy cited that he wanted a nerve specialist, because the marks from his surgery were numb in some places and overly painful in others.

                “René said about the same, but he felt a lot of improvement after a few months.” She counters.

                “Get to the point.” Spy says.

                “Well, you’re lying. I know it.” She says.

                That.  
                Okay, he _was_. In his profession, he _did_. The woman lived with René, and given how much dirt Spy has on him…  
                No. That was _petty_ and he was fully aware that Alice knew about that interaction with René and Lawrence. Also, it would start an intense argument. It wasn’t in polite conversation to mention questionable relationship choices, even if it did harm a party involved.

                “I am here for many reasons. At the base, you knew that Scout wanted me here. Either of you can say what you will about me, but at the end of the day… Your child invited me, and you seemed willing to have me inside.” Spy says.

                He somehow entered dangerous territory, and prided himself on staying still when the woman pulled out a _knife_. Pretty thing, must be a Black Rose. Spy keeps himself relaxed, all while Alice glares at him.  
                As unfortunate as it is to be outnumbered, Spy knew his way around this situation.

                “I still can’t quite sort why you’re here.” She says, “Everything feels as though you’re hiding the real reason.”

                “You realize even if I were to mention the truth, you would immediately disbelieve it given my nature as a Spy.” Spy says.

                “ _Lui répondre_.” René says.

                “Yeah, give me an actual answer!” she says.

                She repositions herself so that the knife is perhaps poking on his chest, nearly baffled he doesn’t move. René will figure that it came from his training.  
                The truth was Spy didn’t feel the pain, just the pressure from the knife. He looked down, seeing that there was indeed blood blossoming on his shirt. Pity, another one ruined.

                “Alright. The truth? Scout wanted moral support.” Spy says, “And that is all I care to disclose, because as much as I understand you being a protective parent, I will not betray Scout’s trust.”

                René was the one who pulls him away, shoving him against the nearest wall. Spy feels his body lurch, but he smiles cruelly at his former counterpart.

                “ _tu mens_!” he says.

                “ _Bien sur que oui. Espion, rappelles toi_?” Spy asks.

                Spy pushes René away, watching the man have a knife ready but himself…  
                Spy walks open armed. Sure, he has a blade hidden under a sleeve, but it would more than likely be rude to fight René (his gun was in his overcoat, pity). Alice says something, he should pay attention to these things, but he intently keeps his focus on the other man. So far, they do nothing…

                Well, actually, the French insults come out. René started it, and Spy was not one to be outdone. Spy could note what was going on around him, he knew Alice was trying to sort out what they were saying, that Justine entered the room and consoled her mother. There were people who entered, but they decided that entering the argument was pointless.  
                For that moment.

                “ _Avez-vous fini de comparer la taille de vos piqûres_?” a woman asks.

                That caught both their interests. While René seemed close to stabbing Spy (and he was more than prepared to parry), they look to the woman who asked the question. Beside the RED Scout (Jeremy?) was a woman dressed in a couple shades of blue. Spy already deduced she had to have worked for BLU, too much of a coincidence.  
                That, and the outfit was… well, practical. While it was still unusual for him to see a woman out of a skirt, she wore pants similar to the Scouts, and had blue/white stockings instead of their regular regulation ones. Her top was what Miss Pauling would allow herself in, but concealed part of her appearance with round sunglasses and a scarf over her hair.  
                Venturing a rough guess, she had to be around the Scouts’ age.

                René speaks to her first. He points the knife in her direction, insulting her and her mother for allowing her to have such a mouth. Alice gave a small sound of disgust, perhaps… disappointed? Who knew.

                The woman, she sighs as she’s slowly taking off her sunglasses.  
                No…  
                She has Teresa’s eyes. And the face. His photograph of her was when she was sixteen, but this woman... the image of her only completes as she takes off her scarf. Only, she’s an adult. She tosses keys in a small container by a table, and drapes the scarf over whatever Jeremy was holding onto.

                “Aw man, René, did you have to insult Teresa’s ma? _Our ma_?” Jeremy asks.

                That comment made René pause. Probably never met her before, which was _strange_. Spy thought that René has been here for months, but was that not true? He mostly focused on this because the thought of seeing-.  
                No.  
                He watches her, trying to distance the thoughts of who she is, seeing how she moves in for the attack. She gets within René’s space, swinging her arm into his stomach. René hesitates on stabbing her, and she ends up positioning herself so that she grabs his knife arm, twisting around so that she has the upper hand. He’s leaning forward, crouched slightly as he’s trying to yank himself away, but Teresa has his arm held taut behind his back.

                “Now then.” She says, “I resent insults on my birth mother. She may not have been around, but leaving me with a sizable inheritance has changed my position on her. But my _maman_ , the woman you know as Alice. No one insults her the way you just did.”

                “I didn’t know.” René strains to say.

                “I don’t _care_ , you would not use such language on your maman if she was a woman like her.” Teresa says, “Give me a reason not to break your arm.”

                René hisses, spewing out an assortment of French slurs and insults. With Teresa twisting his arm further, they quickly turn into begging and pleading. He even drops his knife on the ground, Spy thought it an interesting trick. This was the sort of position both of them knew how to get out of… Unless Teresa was that strong.

                “Say it in English.” Teresa says.

                “ _I am sorry. I should never insult women like this. I should know better._ ” René says.

                She lets him go, raising an eyebrow when she sees him correct his posture quickly, heading for Alice to whisper very genuine apologizes to her. Justine… Well, she moves away, cringing slightly at what the duo were doing.  
                Teresa looks to… everyone. She focuses her attention on Alice.

                “So. What is this maman?” Teresa asks.

                “What do you mean?” Alice asks.

                “Erm, is this a _ménage à trois_ , with the gentlemen in suits?” Teresa asks.

                René and Spy quickly answer no, startling Teresa. She lurched back, raising an arm as if to brace for a strike. She looks to the three of them, visibly confused. She attempts to speak a couple times, probably stuck on a word.

                “But you both act like those… _paons_.” She starts, “Jeremy, you know which one, I have a metal one in the dining hall. It dances with blue and green feathers that look like eyes.”

                She even gives a visual with her hands, presenting what Spy presumes to be her rendition of a peacock. Jeremy confirms his guess and Teresa slams a fist on her palm.

                “Oui. A peacock. You two act like gay peacocks. You’re both narcissistic enough for the comparison to work.” She says.

                Well.  
                She wasn’t wrong, but Spy equally was not dignifying his-.  
                He would not admit to her that he was indeed narcissistic enough to be like this to the other Spy. But no matter how attractive René was, Spy knew the man was completely insufferable.

                “That’s nice and all, but… What’s a _ménage à trois_?” Alice asks.

                Oh.  
                Joy.  
                Alice, a woman who has clearly been in relationships with more than one person, has no idea what a _ménage à trois_ is. Affirms so many suspicions Spy has about René, it’s sad.  
                He needs a smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> important things-  
> ménage à trois- a polyamorus relationship involving three people, typically with a married couple and a lover. (can be romantic or sexual)  
> I know the French is off (unfortunately. I know there's parts I'm supposed to use vous, but I don't know how the word changes. I also know that some sentences are... off. Sorry. Didn't really have time to send it to a beta, college schedule is _hectic_. Tempted to start going without and using italics and dashes.)  
>  this is also me knowing that this chapter is an awkward transition chapter and I know the next one should be _significantly_ better in terms of flow so. Sometimes this is how writing works and can't stick on the small stuff too long.  
>  (It would probably help what I was aiming for with the French, no?  
> Lui répondre- answer her  
> tu mens- you lie (the one that should be vouz)  
> Bien sur que oui. Espion, rappelles toi?- Of course I do. Spy, remember?  
> Avez-vous fini de comparer la taille de vos piqûres- Have you finished comparing the size of your pricks?)  
> (9/3/2017 update: past this, I will not be using French given it will get far too complex for me to realistically use)


	4. A corpse falling to bits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tense situation.  
> Only, it goes in a direction _no one could ever expect_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> noting again that I have started using names over classes, to see if that aided with clarity.  
> Also to note I will not be using French, I will use italics with forward slashes to indicate another language, using clarity over aesthetics.

                Spy was out on the patio in the back. He took René’s cigarettes, and couldn’t help himself when he lit it up. The motions were a habit, but he didn’t enjoy the cigarette. Partially it was due to the distance from the nicotine, but he still hated René’s favorite brand.

                Inside, Teresa was talking. So much French fluttered around, René was the one asking all the questions. Ones that he should, despite doubting he could muster the neutral façade to ask them. A window was open, strange for such a cool night, but he did eye a couple desserts sitting on the window sill. Helped with hearing the conversations, he won’t question his fortune. She spoke about things that he knew were lies. Where she had been, what she had done, people she had worked with. He’s sure René has already sorted her lying, since he stopped the leading questions.

                She was heavily censoring what she done at BLU. Figures, not as though Spy would outright point out her ‘deceit,’ even with how accurate his guesses and hunches are. Alice would have been the only one to piece together they all worked for the same company. The description she gave of the location… she said she went to France. One problem. The flowers she described were easily found in South Korea or Japan, he couldn’t fault her for trying. Not that René would know the difference. Other little things fell together, and Spy deduced that she was part of another team. Some people worked for BLU or RED for innocuous reasons. Teresa is a ballerina, entertainers had an assortment of uses when negotiating for locations (and silence). He knew that well.

                But the people she worked with counted out to exactly eight, plus a vague description of Miss Pauling. Eventually, everyone will sort that they all once worked for the same person. But currently, everyone is broaching secrecy.

                Spy wanted to go in, say he knew she was lying.  
                Sure, it was easy to do, say he’s a Spy, of course he knows she’s lying. But, he knew if he tried, he might say _why is my own bloo-_.

                The door opens, and Spy turns around quickly, hand reaching into his coat. He was expecting René, he just wanted a show of force. His knives were nowhere near the inside of his coat pocket.  
                Jeremy jumps back in surprise, giving a ridiculous stance that his sister would do at times. Breathing in, Spy relaxes his position and leans casually against the metal bars that enclose the little patio from the back yard. Jeremy cautiously steps outside, closing the door behind him.

                “So.” He starts.

                “ _Bonjour_.” Spy says.

                “Yeah. Hi. Have fun stabbing me in the back?” he asks.

                “Did you enjoy bashing my head in?” Spy asks.

                Spy would normally not be so careless, but everyone else had moved from the kitchen to another room. Should be far enough away to keep from disclosing disturbing bits to Alice. And Teresa…

                “Look. I don’t know why you’re here.” Jeremy says.

                “Scout asked me to.” Spy says.

                “No. Just. Alright. Jeremy, nice to meet you Spook. And my brother, his name is *dead name* but I’m sure you know that.” Jeremy says.

                He did.  
                But he knew so much more than Jeremy realized.  
                Spy looks down, more focused on using the cigarette to warm up his hands. He took off his gloves since they were new and did not want them smelling like cigarette smoke. Jeremy takes the hint, edging himself closer and trying to intimidate him.

                “Look, I know _René_ ain’t the best person in the world. I guess he’s trying to be, y’know, a dad. But you don’t have a kid, why are you trying to be…” Jeremy says.

                Spy puts out his cigarette, not particularly caring it was half done. Jeremy stands straighter, frowning deeply that the wrinkles on his face are almost comical.

                “One, I have a daughter. Shame I could not keep her, but I do have a child.” Spy says, “And two, you have your answer. I am here for Scout, because I was asked to be here. And you are getting nothing further.”

                “That’s my brother. He tells me everything!” Jeremy says.

                “And I am not betraying my friend’s trust. Besides, did you really think you’d get much out of me?” Spy says.

                Knowing the boy, he expected a punch in the face. Certainly seemed he was ready to swing at him. But, the door opens once more, showing  
                Teresa.  
                Certainly enough to get both their attentions. She looks to Jeremy, nearly resisting a sigh that was right on the tip of her tongue.

                “Jeremy, did you tell him the table’s set up?” she asks.

                “Was getting there…” Jeremy says.

                Jeremy huffs, turning away and slipping past Teresa. She lets him, shaking her head as she steps outside, closing the door behind her.  
                The two stare at one another, completely uncertain as to how to proceed. Not that Spy knew what he should say. He considered it a stroke of fortune he decided to keep his contacts on. His eyes would give him away, he knew it.

                “Alright. I heard a great deal of your argument.” She says.

                The window betrayed him. Father Maxime taught her well, he didn’t see her at all. He’s usually good at telling when others are listening.

                “There will likely be more.” He admits.

                “Why are you using gender neutral language? Why won’t you use *dead name* when you speak of him?” she asks.

                Oh.  
                He was. Must not have wanted to misgender Justine, it was difficult enough as it is for him. But, seems that he may not have been watching his word choice carefully enough.

                “Scout was just the name I knew, just like I will be called Spy or Spook.” He says.

                “Hm. Won’t answer, I see.” She says, “But, does it relate to why you’re here?”

                “You expect an honest answer from me?” Spy asks.

                “No. Not at all. But I want to know what you _would_ say.” She says.

                He could say the truth, give a simple ‘yes.’ But it was asking for far too much, it stepped on a fragile trust Justine had for him. Saying no may as well be saying yes. And-.  
                Ah.

                Spy snorts, chuckling so much he has to cover his mouth. He did not want others listening in, though he was sure René had to be nearby. Teresa was not as amused, groaning loudly as she seems ready to curse the sky.

                “What’s so funny?” she asks.

                “Father Maxime taught you well.” Spy says.

                He slips past her, and she allows him to do so. Once back inside, he tries to garner what sort of energy is around the house. Tranquil, for now. And he feels so out of place, equally an observer and a participant. He knows that is the worst position to be in, despite how there is no chance of remaining staunchly in one of the categories.  
                Spy tosses the cigarette pack onto one of the kitchen counters, he forgotten where he found the pack originally. Teresa pushes past him, muttering a couple phrases in French.

                “/ _If no one tells me, I will seek the answer from the source./_ ” She says.

                He glances inside the dining hall, seeing a massive table that could easily seat twelve. The Scouts were already bunched in their usual spot, and it’s there Spy sees that Justine no longer has many of her brother’s qualities. Teresa grabs hold of Justine’s shoulder, tugging on her.

                “Uh.” Justine starts.

                “Oh come now.” Teresa starts, exceptionally sweet and with no hesitation, “I spent so much time with Jeremy, and I know you eaten before we arrived. You can take ten paltry minutes to talk to me in private and we can catch up.”

                No room for debate, sounds a lot like how he used to go about things. Justine took her words seriously, despite how their mother was making some last minute touches.  
                Spy made a sudden realization once he saw all the food present. The smell tipped him off, and he edges away from the dining hall out of habit. The kitchen must be well ventilated, he couldn’t smell it earlier.

                Alice steps into the kitchen, at first glaring at him but… It relaxes, perhaps because he’s a bit sheepish.

                “There a problem we don’t know about?” Alice asks.

                “Never thought to mention I cannot have black currant.” Spy says, “It’s such a specific thing that isn’t all that used in American cuisine, René must like it.”

                “You don’t?” she asks.

                “Drug interaction, not a fun one either.” He says.

                He pauses before he goes to explain-.  
                Why does he want to explain? He hates talking about the issues surrounding black currant, he always dismisses it as an allergy. It’s the truth that he has to keep an eye on it because of drug interactions but-.

                Spy thinks over the process, as he’s turning back to where he left the cigarettes.  
                He is telling the truth. He takes the package, seeing the deceptive nature now that he’s noticing this interaction. He rips off the fake packaging, away goes the vaguely Egyptian wrapping to…

                Truth serum cigarettes.

                _Son of a bitch._

                “I would feel bad but…” Alice starts.

                “You are a mother.” Spy says, “I can... empathize.”

                Truth serum is trickier than what most people figure. He practiced with a couple, so he could recognize the signs. He could avoid telling the truth, especially if he was uncertain of it. Half-truths were easy to slip through, and it helped Spy didn’t finish a whole cigarette.  
                But this…

                Normally, he would run. That was the smartest decision, he has so many secrets that would get them killed if discovered. Aside from the issue that the wrong secrets revealed would easily lead to him being hunted down. But it could also be his undoing, if he lurked around the wrong people. Strange, the safest place to be was with another Spy that more than likely intended to take advantage of this situation.

                Alice takes hold of him, but then Spy hears the sound of Alice calling out for Teresa and Justine in another room. René still keeps the form of his wife, almost dragging Spy to another room…  
                Only for Teresa and Justine to come out of the room that René was dragging him to. Teresa was quick, grabbing a bat that was leaning in a corner (he seen so many, did all of them play baseball?) and moving menacingly towards them.

                “/ _You are doing this? In my maman’s house? Can’t you Spies keep your fucking jobs from interrupting one night? No? What is with the two of you?/_ ” She shouts.

                Completely in French, this was feeling like some television drama. René has since let go of the disguise, responding that it was Spy’s fault for making himself a target. Spy had many arguments, but he feared the questions that could come to the surface.

                “/ _Mon lapin. Do not concern yourself. René has surely learned his lesson… for the next hour./_ ” Spy says.

                That is about as much belief he could give the man, though Teresa directs her attention to him.

                “So. Lazare, correct? Why call me such a term of endearment?” She asks, changing back to English.

                This was surprisingly simple, because he could use one of two true answers. Which was not the ‘because it’s equally a term of endearment for daughters as it was sons’ answer.

                “I venture you done an assortment of _hopping_ for your employers, much like Scout has.” Spy says.

                She stares, positioning her bat so that she can lean on it, edging closer to him.

                “Builders League United?” she asks.

                “But of course. Who would want to wear a gaudy burgundy suit?” Spy says.

                “What team?” She asks.

                “Fortress, and yours?” he asks.

                “Crossroads. I have heard of Fortress, seemed that RED was favored. Pity, really.” She says.

                Spy has heard of Crossroads, a great deal about them. A furious ragtag of women, with one man (both of them being Spies with interesting circumstances surrounding their placement). And BLU was favored in terms of that team, but… Teresa sighs, trying to sort out this conundrum.

                “… How did this happen? How are we all here?” she asks.

                The real answer, which Spy was more than tempted to let slip out: because everyone here was related by blood, more than likely due to the Spies having children period (the countless reasons why a company would want to take advantage of such a situation), and it made for interesting drama.

                “Coincidence, I suppose.” Spy says, “I keep making this known, but no one believes me when I say _Scout asked me to be here_.”

                “Sorry Spook.” Justine says, “I’ll. Erm. It’ll come out soon, then I guess you can… leave?”

                Spy stares at Justine. For one, there was so much of the temptation to say her real name. Two, he knew how he was but he was telling the truth. Just as he was starting to explain, Alice walks into the kitchen, her smile sharp and-.  
                Everyone took this as a sign to file out and into the dining room. Black currant or no, Spy could sort himself around the issue… And, _René_ of all people mentioned in muttered Spanish a very small number of dishes. Teresa and the Scouts were already chatting in very casual French, so Spy kept the theme.

                “/ _I don’t know if I should thank you or be suspicious_./” Spy replies.

                “/ _I would have both feelings. My wife would probably kill you for not eating, then me for admitting you have a dietary restriction and not being polite enough to mention what you_ could _eat./_ ” René says.

                “Wait you’re allergic to something?” Justine asks.

                Oh how he wished Justine would shut her mouth. Alice sat herself at the head of the table, raising a brow at both the Spies. She wanted an explanation, clearly. Especially since her spot at the head was the only one without a dish. She was going to make sure everyone else ate first, in accordance to what Spy saw of certain households.

                “Something I had to avoid, black currant.” Spy says.

                “Wait. You _can_ be allergic to black currant?” Justine asks, “isn’t that like, a super French food?”

                That was so nuanced…  
                Spy groans, internally and externally. He takes a spot the furthest he dares, sitting across from Justine. As he expects, René sits next to him. But, Spy explains the truth: he takes a medicine that does not react well with black currant. He skirts around the specific drug (somehow), and does admit he says allergy _on occasion_ because that was easier to explain to people. But he does admit that excuse comes with some nuances of its own, due to what the allergy entails.

                “So that’s why you really hated that random shipment full of black currant macarons.” Justine says.

                “Oui. My friend finds it equally ironic a Frenchman such as myself cannot eat it, and he thinks it a funny joke to send me biscuits I cannot eat.” Spy says.

                With that, the others start moving, setting up plates. It’s… practiced, but at the same time, both Spy and René are out of place. Eventually, it all sorts itself out, and seemed that Jeremy and Justine were more interested with chatting with Teresa than they were Spy’s sudden willingness to be honest.  
                Bilingual, with the Scouts occasionally shifting to English when their recollection of certain words and phrases were uncertain.

                “/ _No, I mean it, men and women who just want to hear someone speak in another language do not care about what they hear_./” Teresa says.

                The amount of times Spy has gotten away with insulting someone, or reciting a shopping list to someone who could not get the hint. He heard René do the same.

                “Nah, no way, you really like insult them or something?” Jeremy asks.

                “ _Les provisions:_ _poulet, lait, yaourt, glace, bleu, l’eau, champagne_ …” Teresa says.

                A shopping list, with some words more obvious than others.

                “Reciting a shopping list?” Justine asks.

                “Oui. You will not believe how many people missed something as easy as ‘ _jus de fruit_ ’ and act as though I said something sexual.” Teresa says.

                Spy has been playing with the fish on his plate more than he has eating it.  
                Main part was he knew the Scouts sexual history (none to speak of). Teresa was speaking as though she was a step further. Well, he was curious (and concerned), and he knew Alice had a strange _fascination_ with the path the conversation was going, with the way her head rested on a hand and the slight bite on her lip.

                “Bit of a shame, given the assortment of double entendre French has.” Spy says.

                “Yes, much like Gérard has pointed out with kissing and-.” Teresa starts.

                Spy quietly sips from a glass, seeing how her expression changes. She drops her fork, covering her mouth and goes slightly red. He wasn’t expecting a name, but he knew exactly what she meant by that. Alice gives a slight ahem, getting everyone’s attention.

                “Kissing and what Teresa?” Alice asks.

                “… copulating.” Teresa responds.

                Semantics, and Spy would be a hypocrite if he was bothered by this revelation.  
                Okay, he was indeed bothered by it. He stumbles onto his daughter without any sort of expectation to see her at all. He finds out a great deal about her, and now he has the name of a potential lover as well as knowing the man he had-  
                No he was not going to find out who Gérard was and stalk him mercilessly with vague threats on his life. That would be _petty_ and _overbearing_.

                Then Alice changes her concerned tone to a completely different one than what anyone expected.

                “Oh, well, so long as it’s safe!” Alice says.

                “Wait you’re not bothered by this?!” Teresa asks.

                “Why would I be?” Alice asks.

                It was a genuine question. The confusion on their face as the question settles.  
                Why would Alice be bothered by this? She had numerous children, and clearly loved them a great deal. Whatever Teresa thought, the realization that she was wrong about what her adoptive mother thought passes quickly.  
                Spy had his own reserves, but, he had to remind himself that he does not have a place to comment on it.

                “Of course I had safe sex maman.” Teresa mumbles.

                “You know, the pull out method-.” Alice starts.

                “With condoms! And birth control! And spermicide if we were really paranoid!” Teresa says, quickly changing to French, “/ _Please do not explain safe sex to me maman, one lesson is enough_./”

                So much more than what Spy cared to know. He saw the Scouts were agape with shock. Teresa, went a base further than either of them has.  
                But René had another concern.

                “Gérard who?” he asks.

                “I don’t think it would ring any bells, but Gérard Chevalier.” Teresa says.

                It rang _many_ bells for Spy, actually. René would know this man as well.

                “The _mechanic_?!” Spy and René ask.

                Gérard Chevalier, Spy never knew the man’s first name, but he trusted him with the Lamborghini when he still had it. Of course, René’s Ferrari was being worked on in the same area too, but… neutral ground, with MannCo, and it was convenient. Someone who knew how to manage specialized cars (and Miss Pauling’s Vespa).

                “I… I am surprised, but I forgot Spies like fancy things at times.” Teresa says.

                She produces a photograph of the mechanic, of which the Scouts were arguing over the image. They wanted to see.  
                A man with short black hair, a flamboyant moustache, and a filthy mechanic’s suit. In the background was the blue Lamborghini Spy used to own.

                “Gérard said that he bought that for five hundred dollars and a fancy yellow Vespa.” Teresa says.

                “A Vespa? Did not figure you to be the type to downgrade.” René comments.

                “One, I like Vespas. Two, I can fix a Vespa better than I can any fancy car. And three, the Vespa I gotten from him only had two hundred models produced.” Spy says.

                Dinner moves with about as much grace and finesse as he expects. But, he has this sinking suspicion. Aside from the truth serum cigarettes that he was attributing to being sloppy, this was peaceful.  
                Too peaceful.

                With most of his food finished, Spy instinctively takes the plate into the kitchen. This feeling doesn’t escape him when he finds himself rinsing the dish. He’s listening for something, anything, fingers twitching in anticipation. A creak of the floorboards, and he’s turning around with the dish in hand.

                He slams it into a figure that tried sneaking up on him, breaking it against his head. Whoever he was, it wasn’t anyone Spy recognizes, and he does not see any familial ties in the man’s face.

                “ _/I knew it!/_ ” Spy says.

                As much as Spy wanted to stab the man, he did not want to risk being more than a little wrong. He took his opportunity with René, pushing the figure into him. Spy relaxes slightly when René stabs him, huffing as he complains about blood on his shirt.

                “ _/What happened?/_ ” René asks.

                “ _/I thought you knew./_ ” Spy says.

                The loud sounds of a scuffle in the living room get their attention. As Spy expected, both their reactions was almost one where they left out the back door. Somehow, they managed to stop themselves from running away, using their cloaks to get into the living room.

                It was pointless. Everyone except for Alice were apprehended by more mysterious figures. Their uniforms weren’t something Spy could decipher, the clothing equally too plain and telling of their ranks. He was more than certain René knew where Alice was, but seemed that these people were getting antsy given someone was missing.

                Spy loudly sighs, decloaking in the center of the room and slowly raises his hands up in surrender.

                “ _/There’s one of them, where’s the couple?/_ ” Spy hears.

                Basque. What are the odds?

                “ _/Must be around here somewhere, find the woman, get the other Spy out./_ ” a second person says.

                “ _/Shoot her./_ ” A third suggests.

                “ _/René they are threatening to shoot Alice./_ ” Spy translates.

                René decloaks as well, surrendering as he’s unabashedly begging the others to not go after Alice. Only Teresa continues to struggle, Spy noting that it’s taking two people to keep her subdued. Otherwise... who knew what would happen next.

                What kind of night is this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ding dong  
> hello  
> it's death  
>  _did y'all think this would go through so easily? No? well, I congratulate those who sorted it out._  
>  I also like cliffhangers  
> (also, I have settled on an ending that I will not budge from, and a proposed length of 30k, that could 100% change.)  
> (I have made a minor update where Spy addresses someone by a proper title he would know said person by.)


	5. Then I opened my eyes and the nightmare was me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mob  
> a hatter  
> and Basque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a couple trigger warning that will be mentioned explicitly in the bottom notes. Unless you just like reading without knowing, I'm not gonna tell ya how to live your life.  
>  _you will not believe how much I had to research about Basque in general_

                One of the men finally reveals themselves as the leader. Well, a self-proclaimed one. Spy knew the man did not belong, especially with the Italian suit he was wearing (a fine quality, but the other men were clearly Basque and wearing American suits). A man with indeterminable hair, could be blond or brown, that was pulled back in a ponytail, and striking hazel eyes. One of them had a different splash of color to them, but still fit that ‘hazel’ description. Mostly British, but Spy would have to hear his accent.  
                Spy recognized him from somewhere. Never personally met him, but heard all sorts of tales of a mercenary named Hatter, who resided in some part of the United Kingdom.  
                None were good, since among the phrases used to describe Hatter was ‘unstable, unpredictable, and unrelenting.’

                “ _/Thank you, Monsieur. For those years ago, when you killed those men./_ ” he says.

                A British man speaking French, no one could fake an accent that gaudy. It still took a moment for Spy to sort out what was meant, and he remembered Grenoble in France. The last incident he done in public, before he gotten signed on by MannCo.

                “Pedophiles are not men.” Spy says.

                “I agree, merely a slip of the tongue.” The man says, “I thought Interpol killed you for that. No one was happy their savior of the children vanished in a puff of smoke.”

                There was something in the way the man moves that makes Spy mistrust him: the flick of his hand, the way that he shows his back to anyone, and the light carefree smile. The stance was also vaguely military, too precise to be anything else. Spy hopes his guess on the man’s identity was wrong.

                “More like they were embarrassed I gotten away.” Spy says, “You’re Hatter, aren’t you?”

                “Does my reputation stretch that far?” Hatter says, “What gave it away?”

                The eyes, looked exactly the way Ignasi described them. Now that he confirmed the other’s identity, he couldn’t help but back away, barely registered the gun on his back that keeps him from going back too far. He knew from Ignasi’s description of the man…  
                Psychopathic was perhaps the mildest term to call Hatter.

                “hm. Doesn’t matter.” Hatter says, “Here specifically for the couple, and seems I picked an awkward time. The rest the children aren’t here, hmph.”

                “ _/What do you want with them? Most of them are simple men with families./_ ” René asks.

                “That they are. I _suppose_ I could confirm my suspicions that everyone present worked for MannCo. Not that Saxton Hale would give much of anything, that stupid Australian.” Hatter says, “Besides, he’s so wrapped around dealing with Charles Darling that I doubt he would register anything happening here.”

                Spy’s attempting to work through all the options. There weren’t many, but he could keep an eye on Hatter’s prodding. Seemed he was judging the Scouts, and Teresa still struggles. Spy knew the specific reason, one of them was far too eager with his hands.  
                Hatter responds by convincing the goon to come to him. Teresa did not calm down, but given that the next person who takes his place was focused on subduing, they managed to hold her firm.

                Then Hatter slams a thin metal rod into the goon’s eye. The goon collapses, screaming in pain. With it, all perceptions Spy had about him were thrown by the wayside. There was no reasoning with someone willing to hurt others that were aiding him.

                “Pity, I believe I said that I don’t care for dallying.” Hatter says.

                “ _/What./_ ” René says.

                “This is just some gang I managed to hire. Splitting some earnings with their leader helped make my case. Said he didn’t care how this happened, just that he would like ‘that fucking couple with eight children that has done nothing but be a pain at my side dead’ in his words.” Hatter says.

                They must fear Hatter, perhaps they heard his reputation. Or these goons of the mob were ones on a thin leash, and they knew it. Spy knew enough about mob loyalty that even if they didn’t have any for Hatter, if they liked their boss well enough, they would deal with Hatter’s eccentric behavior.  
                To a certain extent.

                Spy was debating on how to use Hatter’s personality against himself when yet another goon returned from the kitchen, the damning pack of cigarettes in hand. Hatter examines one of them with mild interest.

                “Truth serum cigarettes? I thought the Dapper Rogue stopped selling these.” Hatter says, “Oh well, they’re still more than effective, and…”

                Hatter done a process of elimination: it was a fresh pack, and only one cigarette was missing. René wouldn’t have smoked them, but would have certainly placed them in innocuous areas. He knew some of the symptoms that ‘jittery’ people presented after having any, and already dismissed the Scouts.

                “That leaves the woman of the house. Or.” Hatter starts.

                Hatter flicks the pack in a corner of the room, directing his attention to Spy.  
                Dammit. Someone like him will know exactly how to prod. So many secrets that are floating through his mind and it will more than likely-.  
                Worst part, Justine probably blames herself, and Spy doesn’t even hold any ill will towards her.

                Hatter walks to a wall by the fireplace, opening up a secret compartment. Must be a room, and Spy saw an assortment of spytech within it.

                “I don’t need an audience to interrogate. Come.” Hatter says.

                Spy watches Hatter step inside, slowly following after a couple of over eager prods from the pistol from behind him.  
                René’s personal spying room had an assortment of files and documents spread out. Seemed he was keeping tabs on everyone in RED and BLU. He was still trying to research who the Queen of Navarre was. When the door closes behind them, it’s clear the room is ventilated and has its own light source. It’s overly bright and makes Hatter seem more off hinge.  
                Worst part, Spy heard everyone in the other room, although it was muffled.

                “Hm. Main problem the Dapper Rogue had with them was that the effects lasted for quite a while. As well as how people noticed.” Hatter says, “Pitiful Spy you are, getting fooled with truth serum cigarettes.”

                “I wasn’t a trained agent.” Spy says.

                “That I sorted.” Hatter says, “But, there are a variety of other issues I have an interest in, especially since there’s no logical reason why you are here. I would have figured a man like you would have been in Europe. Though, I suppose I could start with that. Why _are_ you here?”

                Easy.

                “For my former teammate. I came because I was asked to.” Spy says.

                “You’re going to be _boring_.” Hatter says, “Alright, let’s speed this along. Give me a name. A couple of them.”

                Spy says a few of the easy ones. His name, a few he was fine with, and a few that were used once. While he attempts to resist more, he spots Hatter edge a few fingers along his sleeve. He saw the impression of more of those needle-like rods.

                “Are you asking for a birth name?” Spy asks.

                “It would be entertaining, I suppose.” Hatter deadpans.

                “Antoinette.” Spy says.

                Hatter stares at him, shifting his arms in a rested position against his sides. He hears the goon behind him give a question, but a loud shout from the other room gets their attention. Hatter listens for a couple moments, shaking his head and muttering about how he needed the second hand.  
                Spy waits, seeing how the slow realization hits Hatter.

                “I don’t know what I expected. Just a Spy that thinks he could retire, a scout or two from that blasted company, a mother with undeterminable qualities… Not another strange scout, not you.” Hatter says, “But you’ve become infinitely more interesting. I know of a few intersex espionage agents.”

                Well.  
                Wasn’t the first time someone made that mistake. But, Spy couldn’t hide the creeping smirk, all because he thought that conclusion was entertaining.

                “No..?” Hatter says, “Your mother randomly decided to name a boy ‘Antoinette?’ Not the worst I’ve heard, but you’re French. Why would she not name you Antoine?”

                The temptation…  
                Ah, he should be cautious. He tries not to let his expression betray that this equally wasn’t true, though doubts he was successful. Hatter rolls his eyes, pulling out what appeared to be the latest spytech, a thin little slab that looks like a tablet and sets it aside. Hatter grabs his wrist, stabbing a kind of medical needle he slips from his coat sleeve into it. Barely stung, and while Spy wished to struggle, he has no idea how long this needle is.

                “Alright. You seem unwilling to explain an unfunny joke.” Hatter says, “Maybe you actually believed your birth name is _Antoinette_ , but I don’t.”

                A blood test…?  
                Spy is uncertain how much could be garnered by such a test. As far as he knew, he was mostly unknown. But, seemed that with the sample, and there was a slot on that tablet that could take a small vial of blood. From what Spy understood from Medic, these kinds of tests take a while to complete. Months, Medic told him.  
                Unless spytech finally caught up, or Hatter has an Australian invention through illegitimate means.

                On the screen, Spy stares at the old photo of him.  
                Of Antoinette, and it just _had_ to be the one from Germany.  
                Hatter drops the tablet, staring at it in utter disbelief. He shakes his head a few times, muttering something about the chances. Spy could only wait, knowing that the guard behind him would be as confused.

                “Antoinette. Reine. Dupré.” Hatter says, “You. You’re a woman.”

                “I have not been a woman for the better part of two decades.” Spy retorts.

                “Semantics. An invert then. Or do you prefer that tern ‘transgender’ I hear floating around intellectual circles?” Hatter says, “What does it matter, the improbable has occurred. A woman, a spy at the prime age of… sixteen, seventeen?”

                “Oui.” Spy says.

                “But a question. Who’s idea was it to name you ‘the Queen of Navarre?’ Such a name, and it’s almost awful.” Hatter says.

                “Wasn’t my idea, Dima was the one who suggested it. I did not think it would stick.” Spy says.

                Hatter tries sorting out who ‘Dima’ was. It wasn’t like Spy to use Ignasi’s old name, but identifying him by his true name appeared dangerous. Hatter picks up the tablet, lazily sifting a finger on some on the screen.

                “Dima, Dima…” Hatter starts, “Ah right! The Sniper you were with, someone named ‘Nube.’ Hm. British army called her Rain. Cute. Probably married and with many children at this point.”

                Ignasi’s old photo is there too, only his was one that was taken in an unknown location. Spy was uncertain if he would appreciate his old photos, where he wore a veil. The photo vanishes, and it returns to Spy’s personal file. Seemed that Hatter could pull up significantly more information than he thought was possible.  
                The tattoo on his arm, the scars on his back, the daughter he had (thankfully, that file merely stated an indeterminate birth, with no name nor gender and Hatter presumed that meant a stillbirth), and all the information stopped right when Spy began his transition process.  
                So his later file is missing, he would have to thank Miss Pauling. If he got out of here alive.

                “ _/I almost feel bad./_ ” Hatter says.

                Swapping back to French, despite how little Spy can stand the accent.

                “ _/Fuck you, I know enough about you to know you don’t feel any ounce of pity./_ ” Spy says.

                “ _/So hostile. I wonder what made you this way. Ah, does not matter. I am being too polite already, that idiotic mob boss might want loose ends tied. That would be a pity. No, I could get something out… of… what?/_ ” Hatter says.

                Spy watched Hatter trail over a couple of records, and tallied up the names. Bounties and rewards, all for his capture. Pity his record cleaning did not target this. He saw one German name, and tensed. It was the bribe that’s hung over him, no matter how old he’s gotten, nor was how unlikely it was Antoinette lived (given how all files stopped, most would presume death at that point). Worst yet, he could see the group would pay the price, if he was alive. He could not decipher the prices.  
                Then found he did not have to.

                “You realize a group has a bounty out on you for thirty-two million, correct?” Hatter says.

                “Oh, it went up.” Spy says.

                Significantly, it was ten million last he checked. Hatter laughs loudly, snickering as he manages to drop the tablet (once more). He picks it up again, looking at the little details before he puts the blasted thing away.

                “Significantly more than what most people have.” Hatter says, “More than what governments have on you. Even corporations don’t have this much out.”

                “Listen. If you’re going to sell me to them, let me know.” Spy says.

                “What? I don’t see how this matters… Hm. Maybe they’ll give a smidgen more if you’re alive, but most aren’t that picky.” Hatter says.

                The bastard didn’t read it. And it would be Spy’s only chance to make some use out of this.  
                Spy shifts his position quickly, elbowing the goon in the nose. It all crumbles, with Hatter sighing and pulling out another of those ice picks he favors. Spy gets hold of the gun, which was all he really wanted. He shoves the goon forward, not all that surprised that Hatter’s response was to stab him in the throat.  
                He shoots, missing completely. Instead, Hatter lunges for him, knocking against the door that turned out to be exceptionally flimsy. They crash through, Hatter landing on top of him, but Spy uses the momentum to roll them once more, him on top.  
                The struggle is violent, to say the least.

                “ _/you bitch!/_ ” Hatter shouts.

                Hatter shifts around, punching Spy in the gut. He lost his ice pick, thank the Lord. Spy knew he was risking a retaliation, hearing murmurs from the other goons. As Spy expected, there was not much love for Hatter. He also knew Hatter would notice this soon. Spy could not afford to lose this gun.  
                Hatter kicks Spy off, both of them shakily on their feet as they’re calculating the next move. Hatter huffs, straightening his attire as he seems to sort what he should do. His mouth was bloody, and all attempts to wipe it clean only sent a new strand of blood down. Spy stands tall, and surprises everyone when he aims the gun right under his neck, positioning it so that it’s under his chin.  
                Won’t be quick, but that isn’t the point.

                He hears the murmurs, mostly the goons confused as to why Spy would do this as though his life had any sort of worth. Hatter’s eyes narrow, pinning on the problem.

                “You know something I don’t.” Hatter says, “Either that, or there’s a specific reason why you don’t want to be taken alive.”

                Spy does not answer, not yet. He wanted to see what Hatter would do. As he expects, the man pulls out the thin tablet once more. The display is highly interactive, and he’s scanning through documents quickly.  
                Then Hatter has a finger over the exact terms of the bounty.

                “Alive. Only.” Hatter says.

                Seems that Hatter quickly checks over a couple more with similar bounties, though Spy knew it would all lead to the same place. Terms were the same, it required Spy to be alive. Hatter’s left eye twitches, and he clenches on the thin tablet.  
                Spy isn’t all that surprised when he throws it against a wall, cursing.

                “ _/Who the fuck insists on alive only? Who? For what purpose?/_ ” Hatter says.

                Still in French, but he hears the remaining mob murmur in Basque. They’re wondering what’s going on, they’re confused as to why Hatter is so irritated.  
                Spy half wonders if there’s a language barrier, figuring they might be _Spanish_ and Basque over _French_ and Basque. This would hinge on if Hatter understood Basque, and so far, that does not seem likely.

                “ _/A German neo-Nazi group has a bounty on me. Hatter wants to sell me to them. They want me alive. I will kill myself before I let this happen./_ ” Spy says in Basque.

                The tone of the hired goons change, almost horrified that someone would even consider it. Hatter glares at Spy, commanding him to shut up. It confirms Hatter doesn’t know Basque. But the remaining mob members are uncomfortable, and it isn’t a good sign.

                “ _/You’re Basque? Don’t look it./_ ” one of them says.

                Spy glances to where he hears the voice, seeing it comes from a man that has a hold of René. Spy tries keeping his eyes from staring at René, thinking of the best way to explain this so that he’s polite and keeps most of his attention on Hatter.

                “ _/Northern Basque Region, in France. I am from Lower Navarre./_ ” Spy says.

                Hatter looks between the others, shifting uncomfortably. The other goons are eying him suspiciously.

                “What’s going on?” Hatter asks uneasily, “What is everyone saying?”

                “ _/Hey, we just support our boss, we don’t support Nazis. Only thing we really care about is getting this man in red and his wife. Children, we don’t really pick on. That’s Hatter’s idea for everything else./_ ” the same goon says.

                “ _/Sorry if I don’t believe you./_ ” Spy says.

                The goon curses, speaking to the others. It does nothing for anyone’s nerves, but it seems that the goons have sorted that they have some morality left. With the goon Spy spoken to as the new ‘leader’ of sorts, he’s posed to ask Hatter his side.

                “Hatter?” the leader says, his accent firm with Basque tones, “Why is the blue one saying you willing to sell him to Nazis?”

                “Nazis don’t exist.” Hatter states.

                Hatter quickly finds out he said the wrong answer, all the goons were especially disgusted with his statement. Who would dare say that Nazis did not exist?

                “No. No. They exist. There’s new ones. There’s groups all around.” The leader says, “He says bounty comes from Nazis. Not worth money.”

                Hatter takes a step back, breathing slowly. His next answer isn’t any better.

                “Well.” Hatter says, “It’s a lot of money.”

                “Boss not do it. He find out, he not happy!”

                “ _/What kind of man did our Boss let us work for?/_ ”

                “ _/We were just killing two older adults, not all this other work! Boss won’t be happy!/_ ”

                Spy breathes out slowly, thinking that perhaps he convinced a small mutiny. Hatter looks between everyone, almost seeming like a trapped animal. And he looks to Spy, with a sort of glint in his eye that’s more than just dangerous.  
                Spy makes a show of making sure the safety is off, almost daring Hatter to lunge for him. He knew well enough that he was always worth more alive, and knew Hatter would be weighing that information.

                “ _/Let go of the younger ones./_ ” Hatter says slowly, swapping to French.

                “ _/What about the man you want to sell to the Nazis?/_ ” the leader responds in French.

                “ _/He has other bounties. I’ll work with your Boss and not offend his personal preferences on how he deals with people. I’ll bring the other too, he has to know where his wife is hiding. I doubt we will find her here. Or, she’ll follow./_ ” Hatter says.

                That was close to what Spy wants. If he happens to know this boss, he could negotiate his way out of this situation. The only problem with this outlier is Hatter, who could very easily be saying this to recuperate later.  
                Spy _needs_ to get to mob territory, if his plan is to work.

                “ _/Believe him, for now. Don’t trust him with a car./_ ” Spy instructs in Basque.

                “ _/I don’t trust this Hatter. He just says pretty words./_ ” the leader replies.

                “ _/Neither do I, but what choice do I have? I have a better chance at negotiating a painless death with your boss. What is his name? I should be respectful, I am not from here./_ ” Spy asks.

                Actually, he has a better chance of escaping in an area filled with Basque speakers, since he knows he can blend right in. It’s getting away from the mob that’s the tricky part.

                “ _/Isn’t that obvious, you’re worse than a tourist. Our boss is Julen. Not Julien. He will notice if you say it wrong, if you’re not actually Basque./_ ”

                Julen?  
                He knows _a_ Julen, when that man was significantly more religious. But is it the same person? He has to know.

                “Julen, as in Julen Mendoza? _Father_ Mendoza?” Spy asks.

                “ _/How do you know him? Not many knew he used to be a priest./_ ” the leader asks.

                Spy almost wants to snicker at the coincidence.  
                Father Mendoza knows him, even knew him pre-transition. They have a great relationship. But Hatter is still an outlier, and he’s quick to demand how Spy knows the boss.

                “Oh, from a long time ago.” Spy says, “Who knows if Father Mendoza remembers me. I was very annoying.”

                The lie is easier to slip out, the effects of the cigarette must be wearing off.

                “Somehow, I don’t trust you.” Hatter says.

                “Well, currently, everyone here knows you intended on selling me to Nazis. Going through him is your best option to getting any sort of payout, if he isn’t offended by your intents. But I am not putting down this gun until the young ones are released, if you want anything worthwhile.” Spy says.

                Hatter huffs, moving to lean against the wall, pulling out a handkerchief to place over his bleeding mouth. The other goons take this as a sign, instructing the others in a mixture of Basque and French. Teresa translates for Jeremy and Justine. The three of them are terrified, there was no hiding that. Spy does his best to avoid looking at Justine, knowing she must be shaken the most.

                “They said we need to walk out the front door and keep moving.” Teresa says, “If we try to stop them, they will not hesitate to shoot us. But it won’t be to kill, not that it matters.”

                “But what about dad! And the BLU Spy!” Jeremy says.

                “I don’t think there’s anything we can do.” Teresa says, “We should see where _maman_ went.”

                Spy wants to answer that he knows things will be fine. But, Hatter would revoke the deal, he would more than likely shoot one of them. Spy couldn’t imagine what would happen if any of them gotten hurt.

                “Go on.” René says, “I don’t know what BLU is planning, but I know him well enough he does not gamble without knowing the odds. I will manage, if it turns out he made a bad bet.”

                It was perhaps the worst lie he heard from René. But, it was enough to placate his children so that they left with Teresa. Spy waits for the door to close, counting to himself to hear how far they had gotten. When he cannot see much movement from the curtained window, he slowly relaxes the gun away from its position under his chin. He positions it with the finger on the trigger guard, having it completely loose and away from his person. One of the goons takes it, muttering something akin to a ‘thanks’ for keeping his word.

                “Hmph. I am wasting so much already.” Hatter says, “But fine. Let’s get going, in the cars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I guess generalized Nazi mention  
> and someone threatens to take their life.  
> And needles, I don't like needles, personally. someone might get struck in the eye.  
> misgendering and all that fun stuff. _being outed is fun ha ha ha, Spy how do you deal with it._  
>  briefest mention of pedophiles. Very brief.  
> Hrm. Next chapter will be fun, I already have 2.4k words.  
> But who knows who you will and won't see after that chapter.  
> The mob isn't evil, per say. Sometimes it's just some rotten eggs. Sometimes they trust the wrong people. Sometimes the boss is an idiot and should be more hands on.


	6. I was once the most mystical man of all Russia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A father, in more ways than one.  
> 

                The car ride was tense. Spy and René were separated into two cars, not that he thought the two of them would be able to plan anything. He’s stuck between two goons in the back, with one in front driving and Hatter sitting in the passenger seat. Honestly, he’s lucky they didn’t restrain him and stuff him in the trunk. It would have been fun to break out, but that would defeat the purpose. Hatter flicks around a butterfly knife, humming an indistinct tune. This nervous behavior started after a certain phone call, with the mob boss sounding in between irritated and pleased. Spy knew what the conversation was about (the mob boss was curious to see the person who caused the split in the plan), but Hatter had no idea.  
                Who knows what Hatter was thinking… Well, Spy could _ask_. Everyone in the car may know French, but it was worth the risk.

                “ _/Did not peg you a nervous type./_ ” Spy says.

                “ _/What do you want?/_ ” Hatter asks.

                “ _/Just some assurances you won’t go after the others./_ ” Spy says.

                “ _/Hmph. And why should I trust you?/_ ” Hatter asks.

                Little reason, considering what Spy done to get everyone to go against Hatter. But this situation wasn’t done, Hatter has no obligation to stick around, especially not if Spy’s guesses are correct.  
                He could hurt Justine, Jeremy… Teresa.

                “ _/Just wait for me to exit the building. Or a dead body, if it turns out I am mistaken./_ ” Spy says.

                “ _/You, turn yourself over to me? Not likely./_ ” Hatter says.

                “ _/I have a few reasons why I must. They’re the same as to why we must believe each other./_ ” Spy says.

                It doesn’t take long for Hatter to sort Spy wasn’t lying.

                “ _/Someone means akin to the world to you. More than the friend you came to provide a favor for. Fine. I’ll wait. That mob boss is chatty, I’ll give it three hours./_ ” Hatter says.

                Good enough. Would give more than enough time for him to stall, set up escape plans. Besides, if this _is_ Father Mendoza, Spy could not keep many secrets for long. Not from one of the Spies that taught him everything he knew.  
                Getting out of the car was as much of a hassle as getting in it. As he expected, the two men who were beside him are quick to have a firm hold of his arms, crossing them behind his back, and using them to direct Spy. Wasn’t quite so firm on the fact that a third person was behind, gun pulled out. Well, if he’s wrong, he supposes he’ll be killed. Horrendously.  
                René was in the exact same position, and he glared over at Spy. He’s quick to respond in French.

                “ _/If you are wrong, I am not helping you./_ ” René says.

                “ _/If I am wrong, we are dead. But the children and your wife are safe, though they will need to leave Boston./_ ” Spy says.

                As Spy expected, Hatter doesn’t follow inside the warehouse compound. He waves them off, walking down the street into a separate alleyway. The inside of the building smelled of blood, quicklime, and an assortment of other overpowering scents. But the blood was hard to miss, parts were stained on the ground still. One of the original goons head over, talking in choppy Basque that Spy has a hard time following. He caught enough that it was meant to summon the mob boss.

                “ _/The British bastard actually got one of them? What do you mean there’s some other Spy?/_ ” The boss asks.

                “ _/I don’t know, he called you Father Mendoza. No one calls you that./_ ” the goon says.

                “ _/Peh! Alright, interrupting my dinner. Bastard./_ ” the boss says.

                When the boss heads out, Spy has some trouble looking past the American styled trench coat. It’s all black, like the rest of the man’s attire. The rings on his fingers were black gold, with onyxes and dark colored diamonds, same went for his wristwatch and all its embellishments. Even a small ‘cross’ necklace (which was actually an open balisong in a cross shape) was made of black gold.  
                Some things never change, though poor Father Mendoza has seen better years. He looks so much older, with how the bits of his beard he keeps around runs closer to silver than brown. Still vaguely European like so many spies are, and Spy felt the man looked strange without his mask.  
                Spy keeps his breathing steady, despite how it’s been years since he seen Father Mendoza. He watches the man start to light a long cigarillo, seeing how the other pauses. Father Mendoza moves both the light and the smoke from his face, staring at Spy in recognition.

                His expression hardens, crushing the cigarillo between his fingers. He speaks in the accented French Spy is exceptionally familiar with.

                “ _/Alright. Listen here. I don’t appreciate being made a fool of. If you’re trying to one up me, I’ll let you know now, that if you keep up with this façade./_ ” Father Mendoza starts, flicking out his favorite knife, the original Black Rose, “ _/I’ll park your ass in a chair, gut you with this knife, and I **will** find out what you did to him. Understand me?/_ ”

                Spy raises a brow, chuckling a bit. He knew that Father Mendoza wouldn’t be so amused, but honestly, that was _funny_.

                “ _/What’s so funny?/_ ” Father Mendoza asks.

                “ _/Last time we had this conversation you said you would tie me to a chair, drink your favorite wine vintage, and puncture my stomach with the pieces after you bash the bottle against my head./_ ” Spy says.

                It’s silent for just a couple moments. It doesn’t take long for Father Mendoza to give a small smile, laughing so hard that he snorts unabashedly.

                “Alright.” Father Mendoza says, “Just. For old times sake. Remember the old lie?”

                Spy already confirmed his identity, but he repeats the answer with the heaviest amount of sarcasm he can muster. _Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_. Father Mendoza laughs again after the answer, having his arms out wide for an embrace, commanding the others to let go of Spy. Once free, he straightens his suit and walks over Father Mendoza, willingly entering the embrace.

                “ _/Tony! It’s been years! I thought you were dead!/_ ” Father Mendoza says.

                He pulls away from Spy, keeping an arm around his shoulder. Spy looks over to the other goons, and René. Everyone else was exceptionally confused at this reunion.

                “It is a pleasure to see you again, Father Mendoza.” Spy says.

                “Hah, not much of a Father anymore. Well, a different kind of father.” The boss says, “But, if Julen is too familiar for you, Mendoza is fine.”

                Spy’s expression curdles at the thought of referring him in such an _informal_ way. No. That was a ridiculous motion. He could _never_ do such a thing.

                “I cannot Father Mendoza! Don’t speak such madness!” Spy says.

                “Ah, boss.” One of the goons say, “Who is that man?”

                Father Mendoza stands up straight, affectionately putting a hand on Spy’s chest.

                “This man, right here. This is my son. He is my legacy.” Father Mendoza says.

                “When did I become your son? I thought I was your godson.” Spy asks.

                Father Mendoza slams his hand on his back, making him cough and sputter. All Father Mendoza does is laugh over the reaction.

                “When you were seventeen, remember? It was long since when you bashed some brains in. Besides, you should be polite to your father Tony. Done more than your birth one, at least. All he did was die!” Father Mendoza says.

                Just like old times. Spy rolls his eyes, chuckling at his old affectionate godfather. It’s been far too long since he seen Father Mendoza, and he would- well. He should have seen Father Maxime. At least the goons were relaxing, realizing that Spy’s been saying more than a couple of truths. René, well… Spy still manages to surprise the man.

                “Tony, come with me! We have much to talk about, you came right at dinner time too! You don’t vanish from my life for seven years without explaining what the hell you’ve been up to!” Father Mendoza says.

                He feels himself being dragged away, and hears the same for René. Spy stops, coughing slightly to get Father Mendoza’s attention.

                “One small problem.” Spy says, “Seems my companion got on your bad side.”

                At that statement, Spy half wonders if he finally caused Father Mendoza to have an aneurism. Well, wouldn’t be the first time he done such a thing. At least the others stopped dragging René off to… somewhere. The man would owe Spy this, if he actually thought he could call upon such a favor.  
                Father Mendoza looks between Spy and René, deep in contemplation. He takes in a deep breath, using a steady French tone for whenever he gets serious.

                “ _/You always made bad friends. You sure Tony? That one’s just some agency Spy, I know the type. Would you actually miss him?/_ ” Father Mendoza asks.

                He knew how much Father Mendoza hates it, but Spy frowns, slumping his shoulders as far down as they could go. Father Mendoza sighs, making it as exaggerated and exasperated as he can make it seem.

                “ _/Oh don’t go demure on me./_ ” Father Mendoza says.

                “Please?” Spy asks, “I wouldn’t ask such a favor of you if it wasn’t important to me. René means a great deal to me.”

                He remembers the little things where Father Mendoza would say that Spy relied far too much on a womanly charm to get things done. Then would note that somehow, Spy would manage just fine with such a charm.  
                Spy figures if he learned how to do something he should use everything he learned to the fullest advantage he can press.

“ _/Ah fine, I owed you an old favor or five. Let the red one go!/”_ Father Mendoza commands.

                Wasn’t a moment of hesitation, they let go of René and push him away from them. René huffs, rubbing on his wrists as he stares at Spy. René looking this confused… Well, competed with the photograph incident when they worked for MannCo.

“ _/Come on, you better be thanking Tony! And you’re coming where I can see you!/_ ” Father Mendoza says.

                René shifts further away from the other goons, coughing slightly as he’s trying to sort out what just happened.

                “You… know Mendoza _that_ well?” René asks.

                “Just thank me and follow. It’s a _long_ story.” Spy says.

                “Tony’s right. I don’t let go of grudges for _anyone_. Hell, if fucking Maxime were here asking me to spare you, I’d kill you. I love Tony _that_ much, over my old friend I’ve known for forty some years.” Father Mendoza says, directing his attention to Spy, “And I presume the same goes for his wife.”

                “And children. All of them. Especially the adopted daughter.” Spy stresses.

                “I would _never_ hurt Teresa! Ever! Maxime would kill me!” Father Mendoza says, “Well, you and Maxime would compete for the first honors. I know what Maxime would do to me, but I don’t want to know what you’d do. You’re vicious when you want to be. Come here, I just finished serving an old favorite.”

                Spy stays beside Father Mendoza, hearing him chat about how he managed in America, all while René keeps a reasonable amount of distance. Inside what Spy presumed to be one of many personal sanctums, with a four chair table set with little _pinchos_. Bread on skewers, some have salted cod, some have a sweeter spread, but mostly this is an appetizer. He expects nothing less from Father Mendoza, recalling the kinds of appetites he has. Spy sits beside him, while René hesitates, taking a seat so that he’s as far away from Father Mendoza as possible.

                “How do you know René?” Father Mendoza asks.

                “We worked together, for a couple of years.” Spy says.

                “You’re not fast friends with people, usually. Especially not other spies, even less likely for those agency brutes.” Father Mendoza says.

                Father Mendoza _was_ an agency brute, Spy knew exactly what he means. Invaluable advice, resources, and the like, but Father Mendoza held limited love for the agency that shaped him. It was Father Maxime that thought well of most spies, and taught Spy how to broker trust. Father Mendoza? Well, there’s always a healthy amount of trusting yourself, and Spy used that as well.

                “Well, Father Maxime would believe otherwise. He might be glad at my progress to trust others.” Spy says.

                Spy picks out a skewer of bread with cod on it, knowing it would be polite to eat one even if he isn’t hungry. Father Mendoza eats one of the sweeter variants, as Spy expected. René doesn’t touch any, until presumably Father Mendoza glares at him. René picks one with cod as well.

                “Tony, what brings you here? You were never one for America, unless it was work related. Not like that spitfire sniper you know.” Father Mendoza says.

                “I was here for a friend, with a similar condition I have.” Spy says.

                “Surprise me in my old age. You’re not much an uncle to the other… queers? That the polite term?” Father Mendoza asks.

                “None of it is polite, some of the time. Just. I think in style is ‘gay’ in America, it’s still homophile in Europe.” Spy says.

                “Of course Tony. Ah! I bet you don’t let your friend call you by any nickname, or Antoine.” Father Mendoza says.

                “I barely let her call me Lazare.” Spy says.

                He quickly covers his mouth, internally cursing himself.  
                He outed Justine in front of her father and didn’t mean to. Hoping for René to not notice is futile, he already connected the dots.  
                _Merde._

                “This is… this is why you are over?” René asks, “Because my son isn’t a son?”

                _Fuck._  
                The worst part is Father Mendoza catches the tone, he’s leaning forward in his seat and almost seems ready to leap across the table to stab René.  
                _Son of a bitch!_

                “I’d say you have a daughter.” Father Mendoza says.

                There’s a certain kind of edge in the way Father Mendoza says it, daring René to disagree with him. Spy reaches for another of the skewers, eating it so he could stay out of the small argument. So he can forget what he done.  
                He’s an awful uncle.

                “Ah. Well.” René says, giving a firm cough, “Pardon the way I spoke. A daughter.”

                “Good. Bet she’s a pretty one, just like how handsome you’ve gotten Tony.” Father Mendoza says, “Doesn’t even look like you’re hitting forty, and you carry yourself with confidence.”

                “Wait. You know about him?” René asks.

                “Know?” Father Mendoza starts, “I knew Tony from before, still screw up and call him Tonya sometimes- Ah shit!”

                Spy sighs, knowing it was just a mistake. Father Mendoza and Father Maxime are rather harsh on themselves over getting terms right.

                “It’s fine Father Mendoza.” Spy says.

                “If you’re sure. Of course, if he ever insisted I’d call him Lazare, I would do so. I know that’s his real first name. But, he said he was fine with swapping to Tony.”

                “But how do you just…” René says, eyebrows furrowing.

                “Accept it?” Father Mendoza asks, “Why can’t you connect that your daughter’s still the same person you knew, just a woman now. Is she actually that different?”

                “But I know a son!” René insists.

                “Oh you’re going to do that? Alright. When I used to be neighbors with the Dupré’s, I knew Tony and Claire. Tony was the elder. Fucking terror he was, thought he was going to be the best feminist. I seen some feminists in my day, but I thought he was going to top them. Then, come around when he was fourteen or so, he comes to a confessional. Used to be a priest, maybe I still am to him, but with what I’ve done…” Father Mendoza starts.

                Spy sighs, sitting back as he thinks about that time. Things were unstable, and he needed someone who would not mention what was going on at home. He knew Father Maxime would reveal him. But Father Mendoza offered to take him, which… he had to refuse. Had Claire to worry about.

                “Tony felt comfortable enough to tell me his thoughts and feelings. Thought he was sinning, thought a great number of things and wanted to know how he could help himself. Want to know what I told him? I said if that was how it all worked for him, I don’t see why I should treat him any different. God wouldn’t. Tony was the sweetest child, and he had to change a great deal during the war. But he’s still a sweetheart, even if he did learn a couple of questionably legal things. All I cared was that he’s happy and it just so happened he was happiest as a man.” Father Mendoza says.

                “I don’t… I don’t understand.” René says.

                “Do or don’t, that’s not the main point. I am not Tony, I don’t know what sort of mental anguish he goes through, and I just know mine. But you should support your child. She’s the one risking herself by coming out.” Father Mendoza says, “If you don’t want her, I’ll happily take her! I’m not too old to teach another Spy like Tony.”

                Spy knew that Father Mendoza means it. René chokes on air (or the food, Spy couldn’t tell), and he shakes his head at the thought of his children learning from Father Mendoza.

                “Non. She has done enough, she deserves normalcy.” René says when he can speak.

                There’s an air of implied ‘over my dead body’ and ‘certainly will not be learning from you’ from René’s tone. But ‘deserves normalcy’ is quite a _diplomatic_ way to punctuate the intent. At least Father Mendoza leaves it alone.

                “Then go be a father and do things fathers do with adult daughters.” Father Mendoza says, “It’s the least you owe her. Not me, _her_.”

                “I… Oui. Thank you.” René says.

                “And you shouldn’t be thanking me. You should be thanking _Tony_.” Father Mendoza says, “He’s the one who’s wasting a good favor on you.”

                “I am aware.” René says.

                Wasting a good favor? Not as though Spy would ever use it on anything practical. He also thought it left a nice parting gift.

                “I am hurt Father Mendoza. Do you think I would waste such a favor?” Spy asks.

                “Yes. You would. You have so many saved up that you can afford to just piss it away.” Father Mendoza says, “And you know I can’t say no when you get that demure look, with the please and the ‘I wouldn’t waste a favor on nothing.’ You wasted it, but alright.”

                Spy snorts at the statement, helping himself to yet another skewer with cod.  
                He missed cod more than he liked to admit. Father Mendoza must import the fish, tastes just like home. The two of them chat casually, though Spy cannot help but look to his watch on occasion. Father Mendoza only allowed Spy to use the excuse ‘a force of habit’ three times. They were already ignoring René, who spoke with his wife via phone call (Spy forgets he has a special watch that allows for that). The words they speak slip past his mind as he’s paying attention to Father Mendoza.  
                It’s been far too long, and the time he has is much too short.

                “There’s a force of habit. Then there’s knowing you have a limited amount of time.” Father Mendoza says, raising a hand to stop Spy from speaking, “I didn’t see Hatter. I was told he was going to sell you to the highest bidder. You and I both know those are Nazis.”

                No point in lying. Father Mendoza would more than likely beat Spy if he even attempted.

                “I. Oui.” Spy says, “The others are still in danger of his rage.”

                “Heh. Stay here, I’ll sniff him out.” Father Mendoza says.

                Something tells him it’s not that simple. It’s a strange gut feeling, he knows he shouldn’t ignore it. There is far too much hinging on things going perfectly. With Hatter as the outlier, he knew there was no chance of that happening.

                “He will be expecting me and only me.” Spy says, “I must go.”

                “Like hell you will!” Father Mendoza says, slamming his fist on the table.

                Everything on the table shakes, catching René’s attention.  
                Dammit.

                “I am not a child. This isn’t anything new Father Mendoza.” Spy says.

                “Tony.” Father Mendoza starts, “Please, don’t do this to me. Think of what Father Maxime would be going through if he heard you had such a death wish.”

                Spy inhales slowly, pondering these exact words.  
                He stands, turning away from the table and starts walking away. There’s not a way to answer Father Mendoza, not in a way that would help him understand.

                “What is worth this Tony?” Father Mendoza asks, “This is you being a martyr. You done this in Grenoble, after that sad sap of a man years ago. And don’t think I don’t know what happened with Eccentric.”

                Spy turns back around, spitting out an assortment of curses. It’s only René who appears surprised that Spy would say such things, edging away from the chair in an attempt to slink away.

                “Are you done?” Father Mendoza says.

                “Don’t you _dare_ question my motives.” Spy says, walking back to the table.

                He digs into his pockets, pulling out his cigarette case. He takes out a photo of Teresa, and the one next to it as Justine in her new outfit he gotten for her in France. He looks at them, seeing Teresa’s firm stare of a pompous front… contrasted with Justine’s genuine smile.

                “The two of them are worth it. All of it.” Spy says simply.

                He slams the photographs on the table, turning away and heading back to the door. He stops at it, breathing in as he tries… Thinking. Just for the moment, to see if he’s making the right decision.

                “My- My daughter. She will never forgive you.” René says.

                “Maybe.” Spy says, “But what choice do I have?”

                He exits the room, not even giving a goodbye for Father Mendoza.  
                Saying goodbye makes it seem as though he will never return. It’s true, more likely than not. But saying it seemed wrong.

                Getting outside was easy, the other goons merely gave a formal greeting, not particularly holding him back for conversation. Being outside wasn’t. Spy knew he couldn’t wait outside the main warehouse, walking in a direction he thinks is right. He knew enough about mafia set-ups that getting out of the main circle of protection was easy.  
                Didn’t make what he was doing any easier.

                “You actually came out.” Hatter says.

                Spy heard the man behind him, refusing to turn around. It’s a pity he doesn’t have his watch. He could stop this if he had it. Sadly, it’s in his coat, still at Justine’s family home.

                “I _try_ to keep my word.” Spy says.

                He feels the pinch. A needle? Who knows, he won’t even think of it in a few short minutes.

                “Good enough.” Hatter says, “Pity I won’t know why you’re sacrificing yourself, but.”

                The words begin to string together, but he’s feeling the intent behind them.  
                Who knows what will happen within the next few hours?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway there.  
> But just to be transparent, it will be a bit until we hear from the BLU Spy again.


	7. When the royals betrayed me they made a mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The RED Spy takes the lead

                René should have left when he had the chance. Should have went after the BLU Spy, done something other than his half hearted attempt at appealing to compassion. Now…  
                Now he was stuck with the madman Julen Mendoza. Codename: Brutal.

                “ _/Maybe they are worth it. But Tony, you gotten out of trickier situations without resorting to this…/_ ” Mendoza says.

                René waits, knowing that his release is more than likely conditional. Does not help he knows his wife is on the other line, and she heard _everything_. He unmutes the watch, finally hearing the loud brash- _panic stricken_ voice. He hears so many words, and he couldn’t sort out what the subject was.

                “Mon amor, what’s wrong?” René asks.

                “It’s Teresa! She. She’s not here. She was just here, and now. I don’t know what she’s doing!” Alice says.

                Teresa?  
                The old childhood friend. He hears the Scouts, his so- Children. They’re trying to figure out what’s going on. Justine has already disclosed herself, in between René and the BLU Spy’s capture. All that energy shifted to Teresa.

                “ _/I live in a house of shambles./_ ” Mendoza says, “Shut up you idiots! Panicking gets you nowhere. What vehicle does she drive?”

                “Who are-“ Alice starts.

                “What. Vehicle. Does. My. Granddaughter. Drive.” Mendoza says.

                Alice tries to start an argument, but it’s Justine that takes control, saying that she knows the yellow Vespa is missing from their current safe house.

                “Fucking hell. She could be anywhere on that tiny thing.” Mendoza says.

                Not that René knew where to start with all of this, there were far too many angles, too much trouble to start with. But Teresa may as well be his long lost daughter-  
                No, he couldn’t imagine her as such. Not with the BLU Spy being her father. An uncle, maybe. And uncles go save their nieces from stupid decisions.

                With a goal in mind, René quickly assures Alice that he would find Teresa and would return her to safety. Long winded ones, that take more minutes than he likes, but he ends the call with the note that he would be dead before he dares think about giving up. When he finishes the call, Mendoza returns his energy to him.

                “And you think you can just prance away?” Mendoza asks.

                It wasn’t as though René expected to be let off for nothing, he caused Mendoza so many problems for years. He has the BLU Spy to thank for his freedom. But now, with Mendoza’s careful comment, René considers his words with a similar amount of caution. The man’s a prideful one, and keeps his word for people he likes.

                “You promised your ‘son’ that I was free.” René says.

                “Yes. And your wife.” Mendoza starts, “But that was it.”

                What. No. René slowly rises from his seat, hands on the table and leaning forward. Images of his children come to mind. In their twenties, and René _just_ got them loose from MannCo. They’re supposed to live, well, as normal a life as mercenaries can. René was around to stop them from problems, help set up jobs they would like.  
                Not have to deal with someone like Mendoza.

                The man is old, but that’s the problem. Old Spies know so many tricks, had to, just to reach near the ripe age of sixty. He’s also during the time of old experiments, the red glint in the man’s eye is more than obvious. Most would presume Mendoza’s eyes were brown with an overly dark hue, thinking it akin to mahogany. René knew the truth: he read up on this defunct project, with the creation of a team centered on their brutality.

                “Your son asked the same for the children.” René says.

                “Do you want a refresher on my _exact_ words?” Mendoza says.

                He doesn’t ask, more than certain he knows what was said. Mendoza sweeps an arm across the table, knocking off the assortment of foodstuff that was displayed onto the ground. From within his coat, he pulls out a recording device, a bulky thing that René presumed would have a tape. But, he fiddles with a few controls, and-               

                _“You… know Mendoza that well?” René asked._

_“Just thank me and follow. It’s a long story.” BLU said._

_“Tony’s right. I don’t let go of grudges for anyone. Hell, if fucking Maxime were here asking me to spare you, I’d kill you. I love Tony that much, over my old friend I’ve known for forty some years.” Mendoza said, pausing, “And I presume the same goes for his wife.”_

_“And children. All of them. Especially the adopted daughter.” BLU stressed._

_“I would never hurt Teresa! Ever! Maxime would kill me!” Mendoza said._

                Mendoza stops the recording, leaning back in his seat with a smirk.  
                He named Teresa, said he would never hurt her. He did not say he would do the same for the others.  
                René slowly seats himself, keeping his face neutral, but knew that no matter how pissed he was… He needed to hear what Mendoza had to say.

                “I see you get the gist.” Mendoza says, “For someone who reached a high rank in the agency, I would have figured you would be wary of exact words.”

                “You are threatening my children. They have done _nothing_ -.” René starts.

                “Do not start this bullshit with me!” Mendoza says.

                He rises, shoving aside the table, knocking it away to get his point across. Mendoza’s eyes flair a brighter red, a side effect of the treatment René presumes. It calms after a moment, and Mendoza paces around his chair.

                “You’ve killed numerous children too, don’t start with me on properness.” Mendoza says, “Your wife done next to nothing, save for pissing off a bunch of wives who could learn to take a beating from another woman who wasn’t scared of them, and she was still a target. Mostly because of all the things you done, and either she knows and was permissive, or she’s stupid. But I keep my word. You, and your wife. Safe. Your children? Heh. On the fence on what I want to do with them, but it’d be quite the waste to kill them.”

                René had a couple of guesses. He knew how the BLU Spy turned out, many instances are based around circumstances… But the BLU Spy could be utterly vicious when he wanted to. René discovered his favorite thing to do was skin the flesh off an arm, fiddle with the muscles and teach the victim how it all works.  
                Must be a special thing Mendoza taught him how to do.  
                Mendoza paces behind the chair, leaning an arm against it. In his hands were the photographs, and he seems to be comparing the details. Beautiful Justine, and the primness of Teresa.

                “Listen.” Mendoza says, “I just want my son. I need everyone I can get. You know me well enough to know my threats hold weight and venom.”

                “Who’s to say I can even get him back alive?” René says.

                “Then bring a corpse and go to the funeral.” Mendoza says, turning to René, “But Tony will be dead without help. And with Teresa missing, if she’s gone, well… who knows what I may do.”

                With that threat said, Mendoza gives René many codes for his watch and disguise kit. Information on Hatter, which will download to his newest disguise kit within the hour (interesting new SpyTech, the Australian branch finally let their tech go). A way to contact a couple people: Mendoza himself, Nuba the Sniper, Eccentric the Spy (René knew this peculiar man), a Medic named Cossette Kelly, and even Teresa’s contact (seems she has a watch).

                Mendoza provided René a set of keys, to a vehicle of his, a Citroën DS of recent years. Not the best, but it will work. René’s primary concern was trying to sort where Hatter would have taken the BLU Spy, but Mendoza already sorted the issue aloud.

                The bounty was the solution. It demanded a delivery and a confirmation. Hatter was wealthy enough to afford a private jet, and there were only two airfields private enough for Hatter to use. René deduced which one, because Hatter would have to use the less secure of the two, given the distance.

                With his goal in mind, René gets lead to the garage, knowing that he has two goals. Find Teresa and stop Hatter. He has no idea if he could actually do both, thinking of the sorts of fools errands he was traversing through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split this chapter in two. For a couple of reasons. It wasn't working as a whole, so I figured splitting it would do some wonders. And it did.  
> René is a bit tricky, but hopefully you'll like him as much as Lazare.


	8. My curse made each of them pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl with the clockwork pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.  
> So.  
> I graduated college. I have a BA in History with an English minor. (btw that senior thesis I got a C in. Little out of shape over it, but considering everything else that happened, such as caring for my mom post surgery and doing stuff for my brother, I did the best that I could).  
> As some people (I hope) have seen, I was fiercely updating a fic I tend to call Peafowl. Y'know, Taming the Peacock. I got super into Medic/Spy. So much that I uh.  
> Have left people at the climax of this one. For that, I apologize. I only really had the time for one fic. And I chose Peafowl.  
> I know this fic is almost done.  
> Like 3-4 chapters almost done.  
> And I may even write a sequel, because there is space for one. And maybe I read a certain Heavy/Medic fic that has gotten me emotions. And maybe the Anastasia Broadway has given me more fuel, with Stay, I Pray You.  
> But mostly, I tunnel visioned on Peafowl. I made plans for other fanfics (mooostly sequels and side stories for Peafowl)  
> here's where it becomes relevant.  
> It helped me sort out Teresa and a few other characters.  
> But mostly Teresa.  
> Enjoy!

                _This makes no sense_.

                In the plane he sits cross legged, a cigarette in hand. Across from him, the woman Teresa. That adoptive daughter that his amour as taken in. Bloodied and angry, that seems to be the state of Teresa.

                How did all this happen?

                René got to the airfield, cursing. Too late, he saw a plane lift away. Right when René was going to call someone to set up a jet for him, a loud shot emits from behind. He thought he was being shot at, instead seeing a brilliant blue flare…

                That shoots onto that plane.

                He learned later it was a tracker, and a way for the shooter to attract attention.

                “What happened to your body?” René asks.

                Teresa shrugs, her false arms giving him pause, “Car accident.”

                It was a spectacular display of blood and violence. Hatter thought of everything, had hired goons from another game. Competing or no, the shooter, who he does sort is Teresa struck at them.

                In a brilliant display of poise and metal. René had wondered if he was dreaming. Legs that took fine points, the form below the knee socks were metallic. An interesting display of technical prowess, he concedes. He was not expecting her arms to be the same way, only it was clear there was a level of pain when the flesh gave way to metal underneath.

                It was a battle he was combing the fine points of, the skill she possessed to thrust the blade into a head, turning the battle into a dance where her next bounding leap has her punching through the entire chest cavity of another.

                “A car accident that left you limbless.” René asks.

                Teresa leans closer, the cruelest sort of smile on her lips. Her fine features would age well, she could make a great Spy. She already knows how to terrify with just the right gaze and smile. The fact that there’s blood all over her, none of it hers. The torn bits of clothing that stayed on. Her BLU uniform was more than just function, it could withstand the force of her arms pulling against the fabric.

                “Well, they tried really hard.” She says, “then I was given an opportunity of a lifetime.”

                That was the problem, said opportunities with TFI, or just MannCo in general would only end in disaster.

                Teresa excuses herself, taking an obnoxious amount of time in a private corner. When she returns, she is at least clean and presentable. Her legs are covered, although the only detail ‘off’ about her is the metallic arms. René will learn to deal with the peculiar looking appendage. Just as he did with the Engineer’s misshapen hand. Hers has a human-esque appearance, he will give the creator of them that much.

                “Why.” He asks.

                “What man would marry a cripple?” She opens a compact case, fixing bits of her makeup, “Or worse, a mangled piece of flesh, missing most of her legs, one arm gone and the other missing to the elbow? Who would care for me? Not my grandparents. Not _papa_. And I knew I would presume too far with my mama.”

                As much as he wanted to reason with her, Teresa made enough of a point that she did consider this difficult. Shame, she seems to have much more than beauty. Smarter than what she presents herself, crafty and willing to act. Much like his so- Children.

                There’s that paternal swell in the pit of his belly.

                The BLU Spy done a great deal for René, and he was seeing the chance to repay in kind. There’s limited reasons why she would be wearing the uniform.”

                “I think after we get the BLU Spy back… we sort out your issues.” René says.

                He was starting to chat about his contacts, though Teresa closes the compact case, tilting her head and asks, “Whatever do you mean?”

                “Don’t you still work for them?” René asks, “Builder’s League United?”

                “Just to visit Engineers and Medics, only for a couple of checks.” Teresa covers her mouth politely with the back of her hand to chuckle, “They’re trying to make me limbs that won’t break people. So far the limbs that do damage everyone are the safest, but it has gotten better on the skin and other materials like books, floors, and ceramics.”

                Oh.

                “Pardon my presumption.”

                “/ _Easily forgotten._ /” She swaps to French.

                Their next bit of conversation are in rapid fire French. Needed to be, really. The tracker won’t help them catch up, but they are less likely to be caught between not knowing where to go. Teresa was smart enough to use one of the experimental trackers that Engineers would pride themselves over. It will get them an area, with a margin of error of fifty miles with the center being Madrid.

                It allows Teresa and René to contact others, so that plans can be made. He’s surprised that they will be in such a public location, though that’s the point. René and Teresa agree it would be too risky to act in such a public sphere. They will have to accept the fault.

                And wait, a long time to wait. They have hours of time…

                Of which, Teresa has decided to sleep. Getting any amount of sleep was better than none. Shifts will work, and René trusts her enough to start the first watch. It will give him time to decompress the information, make plans that will likely fall through anyway.

                There wasn’t much more he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose the main thing is that this chapter isn't long.  
> The problem I encountered was that they would go nowhere, do just about nothing, and it's not fun for everyone involved.  
> A speeding car with monologing isn't my thing. Neither is it René's. Maybe if it was a significantly more interactive car chase. A fight where René witnesses a technological advancement he cannot piece together isn't something he could, well, comprehend at that time. Neither would the wait for a jet be productive, maybe him acting on some paternal instinct. Give Teresa a hanky or something.
> 
> But there needed to be a transition. A very small one, one that's asking for a bit of mercy while I set up the next one. But one that says "I have not abandoned this, I just took a break, and I will hopefully finish this within a timely manner."


End file.
